It’s Satine, Actually

[The Gourmand]

“Wh--”

The Gourmand had been perplexed enough that his brows lifted to remove some of the shade around his sunken eyes.

“No,” he grumbled dryly, in response to the ocean dictator comment.

He paused for a moment before leaning back up, raising his head so he was looking over her.

“It was an absolute monarchy.”

The Gourmand huffed a salty little chuckle.

“Question royalty? What blasphemy,” he scowled, “It isn't a wonder I'm not popular here.”

Shaking his head slightly, he got back on track.

“Anyway,” his voice had become more level, “There were many things, one stacked on top of the other, that lead me to attempt a coup against the son of the ocean god. But, if I must be brief-- it was the utter lack of equality I couldn't tolerate. Ruling was an exclusive rite of the few, not the many. The prejudice towards merfolk like me; I fought alongside Triton’s royal guards, and so few of my fellow guards looked much like I did, but the enemies of the kingdom… they looked more like me than my allies. It really makes you think.”

Blinking, glaring crimson gaze met Fenna.

“I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't hear it from me. I was getting nowhere. I had to free these people. Just because it's the way things have always been, doesn't mean it's the best way. I had to resort to war: I had no choice. It was time for revolution.”

The intensity of his look slowly lessened. Black pointed nails drummed the table.

“So now you know,” he muttered, “And it wasn't solely bloodlust after all, wasn't it? Hmph? I can only hope now the army is just that much more informed.”

The pace of his drumming increased until it was clear he was impatiently awaiting something.

“Is it about lunch yet?!” he growled belligerently, lightly banging his fist on the table, “This army is a mess!”

The Gourmand was obviously hungry, nevermind that he'd just spilled half a bowl of soup onto the floor.

“I am curious about surface world food,” he mused, his mind obviously wondering, “This, ‘deep fry’ technique fascinates me.”

[Fenna]

An absolute monarchy, he said. And Fenna could see why now. Punished for questioning the status quo, being oppressed just for the way you look? It all hit close to home for the young girl. A much more scaled-up version of the business empire she had been a slave to for most of her life. Kindred spirits, indeed. Of all the people Fenna thought she could find empathy with, she sure didn't expect the Gourmand to be one of them. She found herself actually admiring him in a way... at least he stood up to his oppressors, where she could never find the strength to.

"I can see why people would mistake that for bloodlust, but, like... I get it. At least, I kind of get it. Why you went to war, I mean."

When he pounded his fist on the table, Fenna couldn't help but jump as it had come quite suddenly. Come to think of it, she was pretty hungry too. She didn't have her wristwatch on her or her phone, but she could guess it was getting to around noon. "Soon, I think. At least, it'd better be."


^{“I am curious about surface world food. This, ‘deep fry’ technique fascinates me.”}

"Oh, dude... deep-fried stuff is like, the best," she commented with a dreamy tone. "Oof, now I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. Lemme see how close they are to getting food ready."

She stood up and stood on her tip-toes to try and see through the back window to the kitchen. She could see some activity in the back, some steam rising, and cookware clattering. "Oh, sweet, looks like they're prepping. So not too much longer."

She sat back down and fiddled with her pencil, twirling her hair around with it. She was starting to feel less and less intimidated by the Gourmand the more she actually talked to him. Of course, she didn't want to get on his bad side, as she had seen him bark orders at the soldiers. He was what Kaji-sama wished she was.

"So, like, the inequality stuff you were talking about... that's actually part of why I got treated the way I did, I'm pretty sure," she said. "Kaji-sama... kind of has a thing against humans. I couldn't tell you why. Her entire family doesn't like humans. None of their businesses cater to humans at all. In fact, I think she was trying to hide me from her clients by cooping me up in the basement  all day and making me work at night... she didn't want her precious, precious customers to know she had a human working for her. I don't know if that's, like, some kind of common racism thing with the animal-people? At least here animals and people are on equal standing. It's refreshing."

[The Gourmand]

He seemed wholly consumed in thoughts of food for a while, his expression having shifted from significantly less calculating to a more blissful eager one. The Gourmand recalled lamentingly that he hadn't treated himself in a good long time. He'd simply been too consumed in his efforts to better the Dawnseekers to think much about eating. That could be fixed though.

This tangent was cut short as he lifted his head back up to address the girl. He tilted his head curiously. Human hatred was it? Oh he knew that song and dance. Triton was horrifically prejudiced against humans. The Gourmand was sure Triton had even killed several in his time. Of course the Gourmand had eaten his share of shipwreck victims, but not out of hatred toward them in particular, merely to sate his hunger. In fact, the Gourmand admired humans in a way. It was from their wreckage he learned to take advantage of technology far more advanced than the Atlantians. That's why he would win this war.

But how to answer this? The Gourmand was not completely sure how to deal with children. He'd definitely had plenty of children himself, but he'd been leaving his eggs to raise themselves since he'd left Atlantica. Even while he was in the castle, the various nurses and nannies did the bulk of child-rearing. Perhaps… that was a mistake. Was he missing something?

He let out an affirmative grunt, lifting his arm to reach across the table. The Gourmand gave Fenna one or two pats on the shoulder. He was shockingly gentle, apparently thoroughly aware of his own bulk enough to control it when he had to. He offered another nonverbal grumble as he put his arm back and placed it over the other on the table.
For as cynical as he was before, a thought occurred to him; this one: he thought this one was his.

But there was still a war to win.

“Well then,” he huffed, leaning up to his full height, several of his tentacles shifting to flop over to the other side of the bench, “I’ll tell you what; let us work up an appetite. What do you say to short bout of training? Right here, in the mess hall. I won't even get in my vehicle. I had better get to assessing somebody, should I not?”

The Gourmand didn't appear to be giving much of a choice in the matter. He swiveled around, with some difficulty, and then dropped forward onto the ground, his palms and belly flat on the floor. It wasn't a terribly gainly position, but it stood to reason this was the only way he could hope to get around without aid. He crawled a few feet from the table and then leaned upright. If he intended to train without using his pod, it was abundantly clear he'd put himself in a severe handicap from the get-go. It seemed to be intentional. As if he was taking it easy. Nonetheless, he bent his elbows so his hands would be at the ready.

“Well go ahead,” he said after a couple breaths, “Give me a good punch.”

[Fenna]

The girl had become caught up in her own thoughts as well, as it began to dawn on her just how finely interwoven Kaji-sama's disdain for the human race had become with all the interactions she had shared with the animal-woman. Before, she had just accepted it as part of her situation, barely giving it a second thought; in fact, hearing the oryx's hatred for her species so often, she realized she had actually began to believe she was inferior.

But outside of her toxic environment, seeing many different creatures coming together to work for one common goal, she found herself getting more and more furious. She, more than ever, regretted not ever standing up for herself once, never trying to get away, never realizing just how awful her situation at the time was... and realizing, at the same time, she never really had anyone there to tell her otherwise.

The thoughts were interrupted as the Gourmand reached across the table and very gently, almost tenderly, gave her a few pats on the shoulder.

She didn't move, shocked by the comforting gesture. If there was any doubt in her mind that he empathized with her before, it had vanished in that instant. With that simple, but telling gesture, it dawned on Fenna that she actually had someone willing to defend her, who actually saw something of worth underneath that unassuming exterior of a lonely teenage girl. With the realization, she felt... comforted. For the first time in a long, long time, Fenna actually felt at ease.

The Gourmand leant up, towering over her petite frame.

^{"What do you say to short bout of training? Right here, in the mess hall. I won't even get in my vehicle. I had better get to assessing somebody, should I not?”}

Training? Right here? Right now? Fenna had a moment of pause. There wasn't anyone else around. He was even handicapping himself without his mobility device. He was already out on the floor, seeming keen on it...

"Well... ok, sure."

She stood up, her 5 and a half feet barely managing to come up to the Gourmand's chest as they both stood at full height. She did not feel ready or confident at all, especially on such short notice, but the merman clearly saw something in her worth training. She sheepishly held both her hands up in fists, an uncertain look on her face. He coaxed her to give him a punch.

She didn't strike immediately, calculating exactly how she would go about it. Though he had left himself vulnerable, she was still intimidated, knowing he could easily mop the floor with her. She knew, however, he was going to do no such thing. It was practice. Besides, she was getting angry enough just thinking about Kaji-sama, and what better way to vent it than through a little bit of fisticuffs with her newfound mentor of sorts.

She took a breath, concentrated, and then...

"HhhAAH!"

With a cry, she swung her closed fist in an uppercut, right toward the Gourmand's lower jaw.

[The Gourmand]

He blinked, raising his brows. He had been expecting something a bit more predictable, like she may try to go for his middle which was more level with her fists. The Gourmand arched himself sideways, but still felt a fist connect with the corner of his jaw. Teeth briefly clashed together and he let out a big snort.

Rearing back, he noticed that hot soreness on the side of his face that would eventually form into a small bruise. The Gourmand had wanted to be hit. He was rather good at taking punishment, obviously given his lifestyle, and more importantly believed actually subjecting himself to another’s skills was the best way to understand them.

“Fine,” was all he had to say about his evaluation at first.

The Gourmand remembered the events from earlier. No. He would not be ashamed of his techniques. He'd been warlording for a century at least. Obviously something was working for him. If the Dawnseekers were smart, they would take advantage of the resource that was him. All he did was make a minor slip up on the explanation side of things. He needn't doubt his abilities. He would prove his teachings invaluable -- right here -- right now.

Shoulders squared, enhanced by the cranium and jawbones that acted as shoulder pads. The Gourmand returned his head to a level position, several of the bones in his neck cracking as he did. A sinister glare appeared in his eyes.

“Now it's my turn.”

There were no rules set in place. Primarily because he wanted to know how Fenna would react. Real war wasn't regimented. It wasn't a routine. It was wild and unpredictable. And the Gourmand put immense value in the ability to think on one’s feet. No matter how supposedly small or weak one was, the Gourmand would put those who showed him an ability to improvise above those who could not.

Snarling, he lifted a hand, fingers splayed as if to claw or grab. While he was a fair amount quicker than one may expect, the Gourmand was still a big heavy beast and his lunge had a good few seconds of obvious build up. The immobile warlord leered, swinging his arm out, and his face twisting to reflect his battle-charged brutal rage.

This was a test. He couldn't very well know how well the teenager would deal with the strain of battle without simulating it. It was perfectly reasonable in his mind that him being terrifying justified the ends. The Gourmand had to know her real reactions so he could correct them: make them better. It was the best way.

So he didn't hide his monstrous side when he made a false swipe. He would observe now, and teach later.

[Fenna]

Woah. Fenna didn't think she would actually make the hit.

Her eyes widened, shocked, after she pulled back from making contact with the Gourmand's jaw. Her first instinct was to apologize, but she quickly bit her tongue before the words could escape. There was no need for it, this is exactly what he wanted and exactly what she needed to do. You don't apologize for hurting someone in battle. Her lips curled in a lopsided grin, wanting to be proud of her achievement.

^{"Now it's my turn."}

A dark look crossed his face, and the Gourmand began to wind up for the hit, with a serious battle-charged snarl on his face. The intensity of his attack shocked her, a slight look of panic crossing her face before quickly turning to resolve. The buildup for the swipe lasted long enough to give Fenna time to react; she took a small hop backwards, attempting to get herself out of his reach.

Unfortunately, she slightly missed her mark. The Gourmand's sharpened claws yanked at her flannel jacket and forced her to stumble to the side a bit. With a sharp cry, her feet slid out from under her and she lost her balance. With a quick flail of her arms she caught herself on the edge of the table next to her, the impact of her weight shifting the table with a loud wail of table legs scraping the floor.

Having just barely avoiding falling flat on her face, Fenna gave a huge sigh of relief. She steadied herself again, a bit embarrassed that he had managed to knock her around. "Damn, dude, you don't fuck around," she remarked with a bit of a laugh, finding herself surprised again at the ferocity in which he had swiped at her. "I get why people are terrified of you! And I mean that as a compliment."

[The Gourmand]

He brought his arm back, holding it slightly away from his body and bending the elbow again. The Gourmand was still poised and ready for a fight. Even while being functionally immobile, it would be hard to call him weak, especially to his face. He wasn't called a warlord for nothing after all.

“We're not done.”

The tone was humorless and frigid. The Gourmand didn't react to being complemented. It certainly seemed mean, and it was, but he felt cheated out of his initial training session and was single-minded in making this one count.

“Get up. And fight.”

That was all the direction he gave. He was still trying to get a baseline. He wanted to know how to best play into this human’s abilities… or even decide if it would be wise to commit to warrior training at all.

Tendrils that had been flat on the floor began to writhe before picking themselves off the ground. Baring his teeth, several tentacles came hurtling forward, faster than his arms ever could, aiming to restrain Fenna’s wrists and ankles. The Gourmand had no intents of making this easy, whether he was in his vehicle or not.

[Fenna]

^{"We're not done. Get up. And fight."}

Fenna did not have to be told twice. The Gourmand was serious about this, she was foolish to think of letting her guard down even for a bit-- there was no downtime in battle. She quickly assumed a defensive position, holding both fists up by her chest to try and block any sort of attack he would throw at her. His tentacles flared and lunged, and Fenna, while caught off guard, reacted promptly.

She threw her fist forward and her other fist upward, in an attempt to whack the tentacles away from her. She succeeded in batting a few away, but she moved her feet too late-- even with a couple of frenzied kicks, she still found a tentacle coiled around her ankle. She cried out in shock and tried to lift her foot out of its vice grip, only to have another one grab her other ankle. There was no catching herself this time, she toppled to the ground and landed directly on her back with a huge slam.

"Ow!!" she couldn't help but cry out in pain at the impact. Still she pulled at the tentacles gripping her ankles, with not much success. She flailed her hands around, attempting to slap away more tentacles, but this time it was not enough, and sure enough those caught hold of her wrists as well. She grunted and yelped and kept struggling, but it wasn't any use-- the Gourmand had caught her right in his trap.

Training was not going as well as she'd hoped. But, she supposed this was good, in a way... she needed to learn how to defend herself somehow.

[The Gourmand]

His weakened tentacles began to double up and twist further around Fenna’s wrists and ankles to allow him more of a grip. He glared down with a stony expression, somewhere between displeasure and anger. Clearly, he had a lot of work ahead of him, and not just with the girl: the entire army needed his help. The red of his eyes briefly glowed before the tendrils began to let ho and retreat closer to his body.

“This army has a long way to go, and there may not be much time,” he growled, “Whether or not they care to take my lessons as relevant, I will be the one that speaks the cold hard truth. We could be so much stronger, braver… not this -- pathetic, sulking mess!!”

His last words were shouted, and he brought a fist down on a nearby tabletop to release some of his pent up frustration. His attention shifted into the distance as he backed away from the human as effectively as he could for his lack of legs.

“Well then,” the Gourmand said, his voice more gravelly and subdued, “I've decided, I shan't waste my time on the thick-skulled. Those who most deserve my mentorship will make themselves known to me.”

He dropped down to his hands in order to crawl the short distance back to his table. Crimson eyes briefly met with her's.

“I suppose I should thank you for that.”

A strident ringing came from the back of the mess hall, prompting the beast to break eye contact and prick his ears. One of the chefs stood at the kitchen doorway, ringing a bell to announce lunchtime.


((Thread is now Open to All Dawnseekers!))

[Fenna]

Fenna couldn't help but feel a bit of a pang of guilt as the Gourmand voiced his frustrations about the army. She knew she wasn't very strong and she had no prior experience to any sort of battling. She was far from ready for battle.

But, hearing him say he wouldn't waste his time with anyone who wasn't willing to listen, she felt... a little proud? He clearly was not happy with the way many of the other soldiers performed... and she was barely good enough to keep up a fistfight. The Gourmand saw something in her she clearly didn't. If she kept practicing, maybe she'd make a decent soldier yet!


“I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Fenna gave a tiny, lopsided grin. "Thank you," she said. "I know I'm not super great, but I'm willing to keep trying. I didn't join the army to just stand around like an idiot."

Her train of thought was promptly broken at the sound of the lunch bell. She immediately stood back up, feeling the slightest bit sore from falling on her back, and quickly dashed to get first dibs on food. The practice sparring had indeed worked up an appetite for the girl and she could feel herself starting to shake from neglecting to feed herself since she got up... oops. That definitely didn't help her slightly poor performance earlier.

She accumulated a fairly balanced meal, enough to get her through the day. It was mostly steamed vegetables and rice; she was used to eating things that were light, having really only been given the bare minimum under Kaji-sama. Anything too rich or dense (too much bread or meat, mostly) and it would make her feel sick and bloated all day, and that was the last thing she needed if she was going keep working.

She sat back down and got straight to her food, pulling out her sketchbook again and starting to finish up the sketch she had started earlier in-between bites. She was feeling a lot more motivated now, and was actually starting to feel... at home? Maybe. It was still, by far, much better than where she had come from.